Page 58 of Kiss the Fae

The runty Fae floats from the park, her wings smacking the air as though punishing the elements for no particular reason. The whippersnapper’s wearing a bumblebee-yellow silk dress, and although she isn’t overloaded with mortal baubles anymore, her indignant frown weighs a ton. “You, again.”

Cerulean tells her, “She needs a room.”

Moth’s angry face snaps toward him. “Didn’t they all burn down?”

“Enough, Moth. She requires a guest chamber.”

“The fuck, I do,” I retort.

“You can say that again,” the whippersnapper trills. “Just because she’s here doesn’t mean she needs to be comfortable.”

“I don’t plan on getting comfortable because I’m not staying,” I protest.

“Very well, she needs an oubliette,” Cerulean says mildly. “Either will suffice.”

“What I need is a map pointing the way out of here. Or I’ll find an outlet myself.”

His malignant laugh rents the air. “Without wings, I should love to see you try. Though if you fall this time, I won’t be there to catch you.”

His owl caught me, not him. Nonetheless, I blurt out, “Why did you save me?”

“Why are you complaining?” he evades.

Moth’s papery frown deepens, ravines digging into her face as her tumbleweed head volleys between us.

Forget it. I know why he saved me. I made a vow not to abuse his true name, and he paid me back in excess by sparing my life. Yeah, the owl did the catching, but Cerulean orchestrated the whole thing. I haven’t forgotten the loophole he’d spelled out in the cottage, how winning on my own doesn’t mean favors are off-limits, especially for the mountain’s ruler.

It’s a win-win. I still have a shot at reaching the peak fairly, and he can continue to torment me without feeling beholden.

As far as I can tell, there’s no visible route off this zenith. I steal another glance at the animals frolicking across the green, a spellbinding yet wholesome sight that loosens the kinks. All the same, why is Cerulean stranding me here?

“I need a reason,” I tell him.

“And I’m sure you’ll get it,” he responds.

“Lemme guess: For a price?”

“We’ll see.”

“Then at least tell me how long.”

While I figure out how to escape.

A tiled walkway cleaves through the lawn, grass fringing between the slabs. Torch poles line the path, which leads to the tower’s vaulted entrance. Again, the archway bears a tissue-thin curtain rather than a door.

Cerulean spins and saunters toward the looming structure. “One full day.”

Guess the Fae changed his mind about Moth ushering me to my room on her own. The runt trails her sovereign, and I trudge after them.

The entrance curtain boasts an emblem of a horse with wings. Pegasi are ancient figures, long extinct in both human and Fae realms. During an antiquated period when living harmoniously was arduous for ethereal beings, a scrimmage against the southern dragons eviscerated the flying horses. Whereas in my world, Pegasi were wiped out when their wings became valuable, and the trade poachers of old got greedy.

We cross into the tower. The first level is grand and wide, taking a deep, spacious breath around us. An arrangement of chairs surrounds a firepit basin, bolts of blue and white fabric loop from the lofty ceilings, and ivy scales the curved walls.

Still no doors. Although the draperies shiver with the breeze, they manage to block out the tinkering tweets and whistling wind. Regardless, the tower lacks guards, and since Solitaries don’t bother with politics like the Seelie and Unseelie Courts do, Cerulean’s kind evidently don’t see the need for security.

“Guess you’re not worried about invasions or storms,” I say.

Cerulean ignores that, but Moth gives a superior sniff. “Every structure on this mountain welcomes the climate, while also protecting the interiors from interferences. It’s a balance. My mother and father tailored the draperies of our land, with piles to spare. The curtains admit light and air but not flames, nor predators, nor weather surges.”

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